Mammoth Hunters by Jean M. Auel Read Free Book Online Page A

Really?” When she smiled like that, she resembled Talut, Ayla thought.
    “Maybe people not be nervous when see you on Whinney. Come. Here is rock. Help you get on.”
    As Ayla came back around the bend, followed by a full-grown mare with the girl on her back, and a frisky colt behind, all conversation stopped. Those who had seen it before, though still awed themselves, were enjoying the expressions of stunned disbelief on the faces of those who hadn’t.
    “See, Tulie. I told you!” Talut said to a dark-haired woman who resembled him in size, if not in coloring. She towered over Barzec, the man from the last hearth, who stood beside her with his arm around her waist. Near them were the two boys of that hearth, thirteen and eight years, and their sister of six, whom Ayla had recently met.
    When they reached the earthlodge, Ayla lifted Latie down, then stroked and patted Whinney, whose nostrils were flaring as she picked up the scent of unfamiliar people again. The girl ran to a gangly, red-haired young man of, perhaps, fourteen years, nearly as tall as Talut and, except for age and a body not yet as filled out, almost identical.
    “Come and meet Ayla,” Latie said, pulling him toward the woman with the horses. He allowed himself to be pulled. Jondalar had strolled over to keep Racer settled down.
    “This is my brother, Danug,” Latie explained. “He’s been gone a long time, but he’s going to stay home now that he knows all about mining flint. Aren’t you, Danug?”
    “I don’t know all about it, Latie,” he said, a bit embarrassed.
    Ayla smiled. “I greet you,” she said, holding out her hands.
    It made him even more embarrassed. He was the son of the Lion Hearth, he should have greeted the visitor first, but he was overwhelmed by the beautiful stranger who had such power over animals. He took her proffered hands and mumbled a greeting. Whinney chose that moment to snort and prance away, and he quickly let her hands go, feeling, for some reason, that the horse disapproved.
    “Whinney would learn to know you faster if you patted her and let her get your scent,” Jondalar said, sensing the young man’s discomfort. It was a difficult age; no longer child but not quite man. “Have you been learning the craft of mining flint?” he asked conversationally, trying to put the boy at ease as he showed him how to stroke the horse.
    “I am a worker of flint. Wymez has been teaching me since I was young,” the young man said with pride. “He’s the best, but he wanted me to learn some other techniques, and how to judge the raw stone.” With the conversation turned to more familiar topics, Danug’s natural enthusiasm surfaced.
    Jondalar’s eyes lit up with sincere interest. “I, too, am a worker of flint, and learned my craft from a man who is the best. When I was about your age, I lived with him near the flint mine he found. I’d like to meet your teacher sometime.”
    “Then let me introduce you, since I am the son of his hearth—and the first, though not the only, user of his tools.”
    Jondalar turned at the sound of Ranec’s voice, and noticed the whole Camp was circled around. Standing beside the man with brown skin was the man he had greeted so warmly. Though they were the same height, Jondalar could see no further resemblance. The older man’s hair was straight and light brown shot with gray, his eyes were an ordinary blue, and there was no similarity between his and Ranec’s distinctly exotic features. The Mother must have chosen the spirit of another man for the child of his hearth, Jondalar thought, but why did She select one of such unusual coloring?
    “Wymez, of the Fox Hearth of the Lion Camp, Flint Master of the Mamutoi,” Ranec said with exaggerated formality, “meet our visitors, Jondalar of the Zelandonii, another of your ilk, it would seem.” Jondalar felt an undercurrent of … he wasn’t sure. Humor? Sarcasm? Something. “And, his beautiful companion, Ayla, a woman of No